Live at The Powerstation
1 September 2026
Live Review by Music Journalist: Paul Marshall
The Swedish pirates of the Kattegat bring the freakshow to Auckland.
There are some buildings where you go to see a concert. And then there are buildings that seem to have been waiting for the right band to come along.
Tonight I’m at Auckland’s Powerstation in Mt Eden, a venue that has become one of the city’s great live-music institutions, having hosted everyone from Radiohead and Soundgarden to the Beastie Boys, Snoop Dogg, Lorde and Kendrick Lamar.
It may not be 1908, but the building has plenty of dancing DNA in its history. Auckland itself has a remarkable tradition of turning unlikely buildings into places of communal musical madness. And tonight, that tradition is very much alive, although the dancing is less ballroom and considerably more violent.
There will be a circle pit.
But more about that later.
First up are Wellington metal veterans Bulletbelt, a band that has been kicking around the New Zealand metal scene since 2009. Their CV is impressive, including tours through Australia, Japan and Europe and support slots with heavyweight names such as Sepultura, Carcass, Napalm Death and The Black Dahlia Murder. Their latest album Burn It Up even debuted at number one on the Official NZ Album Charts.
And tonight they come out swinging.
There is plenty of energy onstage, although the sound is surprisingly restrained. I’ve been to louder pop concerts. This isn't exactly going to blow the roof off the Powerstation, but it doesn't seem to matter because the audience are firmly on board.
The support drummer Steve Francis and kit, as usual, is squashed away to one side of the stage and hidden from view.
No Ringo stage rider.
The singer Diego Attinger announces at one point that he's “not much of a talker.”
Nah.
That's a lie.
He’s a great frontman, working the room with confidence, attitude and a healthy dose of mischief. At one point, he grabs bass player Tim Mekalick around the neck in what looks like a full Nelson, but it’s clearly the affectionate, rough-and-ready kind of horseplay only bandmates understand. Later, he places a hand over Mekalick’s eyes as the two continue to rock out together, seemingly without missing a beat.
There is something else refreshing about tonight's support slot: Bulletbelt actually get the lights.
Full-on rock 'n' roll lighting. No apparent “you're the support band, so here's two lights” treatment. The stage is properly lit, giving the band the visual punch they deserve.
And Auckland's metal crowd is here in force.
There are beards everywhere.
Lots of beards.
Very hairy people.
Even some of the guys have beards.
Then, with the second-to-last song, the floor suddenly opens.
A circle pit forms.
Bodies fly. People jump. Everyone appears to be trying to kill each other while simultaneously making sure nobody actually gets hurt.
Metal crowds are wonderful like that.
Violence with manners.
Bulletbelt finish strongly, and their set does exactly what a support set should do, warm the room, make you pay attention and leave you wanting a little more.
Then the lights go down.
And that's when the real freak show begins.
A few weeks ago I interviewed Johannes Eckerström, the frontman of Swedish metal band Avatar, from his home in Sweden.
As I wrote then, the mild-mannered songwriter behind the macabre imagery and carnival spectacle is an articulate philosopher, lifelong student of music and fiercely independent artist whose passion for creativity burns just as brightly as the inferno his band unleashes on stage.
So, having never actually seen Avatar live, I was intrigued.
Very intrigued.
Avatar formed in Gothenburg in 2001 and have spent the past quarter-century developing one of the most distinctive identities in modern metal, somewhere between melodic death metal, groove metal, theatrical rock, circus freak show and European carnival. Their tenth studio album, Don't Go In The Forest, arrived in 2025.
And tonight is their first-ever New Zealand show.
The audience knows it.
Before Avatar even appear, the Powerstation erupts into a sea-shanty-style chant.
The lights go down.
We don't begin with music.
We begin with rain.
Thunder rolls through the speakers.
Then one enormous clap of thunder.
FLASH!
The entire stage explodes into light.
The crowd erupts.
And then—Captain Goat.
Johannes Eckerström appears carrying a lantern and dressed like some kind of deranged monk who has just escaped from a European monastery and discovered heavy metal.
“Are there any metalheads in Auckland?”
The response is deafening.
A few songs in, Johannes disappears from the stage while the two guitarists Jonas "Kungen" Jarlsby and Tim Öhrström launch into a dual-guitar battle.
And then he returns.
Costume change.
Red jacket.
The two guitarists launch into another perfectly synchronised assault, their heads swinging together as their hair flies in identical arcs.
It looks choreographed.
But it doesn't feel choreographed.
It feels dangerous.
The entire band is ridiculously tight.
The rhythm section, anchored by drummer John Alfredsson and bassist Henrik Sandelin, locks into a crushing, machine-like groove, providing a flawless foundation for the dual-guitar assault. Alfredsson is a spectacle all on his own, seamlessly blending thunderous beats with theatrical poses and intense, animated facial expressions.
And Johannes?
Johannes is on fire.
He's part rock star, part circus ringmaster, part Batman villain.
Actually, let's go further.
He's the Joker if the Joker fronted a Swedish metal band.
But there's something important underneath all the theatrics.
The songs are bloody good.
Avatar aren't simply a visual spectacle with some metal attached.
There are hooks everywhere.
Big riffs.
Huge choruses.
Clever arrangements.
There are moments when they drop the entire band into half-time, let the tension build for eight bars and then snap everything back into full-time.
Boom.
The crowd responds instinctively.
That's the trick with Avatar.
For all the costumes, characters, props, theatricality and madness, the songwriting remains the engine.
And tonight I'm beginning to understand just how good this band is live.
Then the stage reveals a gasoline can.
Because, of course, there’s a gasoline can. And later, Eckerström casually picks it up and starts drinking from it, because apparently even hydration needs a little Avatar theatrics.
At one point, the keyboards malfunction.
Harry, the sound technician, comes onto the stage.
The audience watches.
As Harry battles with the leads and inputs, trying to get the malfunctioning keyboards back under control, Eckerström introduces him to the crowd: “This is Harry.”
“Nice one, Harry!” shouts someone from the crowd.
Then, almost instantly, the entire Powerstation begins chanting:
HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!
It's one of those spontaneous live-music moments that you couldn't rehearse if you tried.
Johannes takes it all in his stride.
He jokes.
He insults the audience.
He charms them.
He controls them.
He tells us that he is a fan of Flight of the Conchords.
And at another point, when the band is clearly running out of time, the audience boos.
Johannes looks out across the room.
“You ungrateful little shits.”
The crowd loves him even more.
This is what makes Eckerström such a compelling frontman.
He doesn't simply perform at the audience.
He plays with them.
And by the end of the night, the Powerstation isn't really a concert venue anymore.
It's a theatre.
A circus.
A metal cathedral.
A freak show.
A playground.
And occasionally, a wrestling arena.
Then comes “Smells Like A Freakshow.”
Originally released on Avatar's 2012 album Black Waltz, the song has become one of the band's signature pieces and tonight it proves exactly why.
Live, it's an absolute head-bobbing monster.
You can't help but move.
And suddenly I realise something.
The building is dancing again.
Not ballroom dancing.
Not the respectable social dancing of another era.
This is hundreds of metalheads moving as one organism.
Heads banging.
Bodies jumping.
Hair flying.
A circle pit threatening to swallow anyone foolish enough to stand too close.
But it's dancing nonetheless.
And maybe that's the strange magic of live music.
Different generations.
Different sounds.
Different clothes.
Different reasons for being there.
But the same basic human impulse.
Gather together.
Turn the music up.
Move.
Lose yourself for a couple of hours.
Avatar understand that instinct better than most.
They have built a world around it.
A world populated by pirates, clowns, monks, freaks, warriors, kings and characters that seem to have wandered in from some Scandinavian nightmare.
And somehow, underneath all of it, there's an extraordinarily disciplined band.
That might be the biggest surprise of the night.
Before tonight, I knew Avatar as a theatrical metal band.
After tonight, I know them as something else.
One of the most entertaining live bands I've ever seen.
They're heavy without being inaccessible.
Theatrical without becoming cheesy.
Funny without undermining the music.
And technically bloody brilliant.
These aren't just musicians wearing costumes.
These are musicians who know exactly how to put on a show.
And judging by the reaction of the Auckland audience, they've found a new home down here.
Avatar finally came to New Zealand.
The question now isn't whether Auckland wants them back.
It's when.
Because tonight the Swedish pirates of the Kattegat sailed into Mt Eden, and judging by the state of the Powerstation when they left, they didn't come here to conquer Auckland.
They came here to make it dance.
After the show, I’m privileged enough to head backstage and spend some time with the band.
Of course, the first person I make a beeline for is drummer John. Being a drummer myself, that’s my natural habitat. I tell him how impressed I was with his playing and just as importantly, his performance. The two are equally brilliant. He doesn’t simply play the drums; he becomes part of the theatre of the show.
And then something happens that says as much about Avatar as anything I witnessed on stage.
The entire band are incredibly friendly.
One by one, the members come over, introduce themselves and chat. There’s none of the rock-star distance you sometimes encounter backstage. These guys are genuinely approachable, relaxed and clearly enjoying being together.
Then I see Johannes.
The make-up is gone.
The theatrical monster has disappeared and the friendly face I recognise from our interview a few weeks earlier is back.
We have a chat about the show, their travels and life on the road. Some of the band tell me they're staying in New Zealand for a few days because Hobbiton is firmly on the bucket list.
Of course it is.
I joke that they better be careful. They could blend in a little too well and end up trapped in Middle-earth, unable to escape Tolkien’s greatest tourist trap.
We all laugh.
And that's probably the perfect way to finish the evening.
Because for all the fire, thunder, costumes, make-up, theatrical characters, enormous riffs, synchronised head banging and circle pits, behind the spectacle are five incredibly talented musicians who seem to genuinely enjoy what they do, and each other's company.
Avatar may have arrived in Auckland as Swedish metal pirates from the Kattegat.
But they leave with something considerably more valuable than conquered territory.
A room full of new fans.
And, I suspect, a very strong desire to come back.
Until then, I wish them the best on the rest of their global travels.
Just watch out for the hobbits.
Avatar Set List:
- Captain Goat
- Let It Burn
- In The Airwaves
- Bloody Angel
- Death Note Glitz
- Get In Line
- Colossus
- Torn Apart
- Howling At The Waves
- The Dirt Im Buried In
- Crying Fire
- Tonight We Must Be Warriors
Encore:
- Don't Go In The Forrest
- Smells Like A Freakshow
- Hail The Apocalypse
Reviewer: Paul Marshall
Photography by Paul Marshall
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